"Why--hem--nothin' at all sure, only"--
"Only what?" asked the stranger, with a face of anguish that seemed to
torture every feature out of its proper lineaments.
"Dacent woman," said Mrs. Sullivan, whilst the hair began to stand
with terror upon her head, "sure it's no wondher in life that I'm in a
perplexity, whin a _Lianhan Shee_ is undher the one roof wid me. 'Tisn't
that I want to know anything' at all about it--the dear forbid I should;
but I never hard of a person bein' tormented wid it as you are. I always
used to hear the people say that it thrated its friends well."
"Husht!" said the woman, looking wildly over her shoulder, "I'll not
tell: it's on myself I'll leave the blame! Why, will you never pity me?
Am I to be night and day tormented? Oh, you're wicked an' cruel for no
reason!"
"Thry," said Mrs. Sullivan, "an' bless yourself; call on God."
"Ah!" shouted the other, "are you going to get me killed?" and as she
uttered the words, a spasmodic working which must have occasioned great
pain, even to torture, became audible in her throat: her bosom heaved
up and down, and her head was bent repeatedly on her breast, as if by
force.
"Don't mention that name," said she, "in my presence, except you mean
to drive me to utter distraction. I mean," she continued, after a
considerable effort to recover her former tone and manner--"hear me with
attention--I mean, woman--you, Mary Sullivan--that if you mention that
holy name, you might as well keep plunging sharp knives into my heart!
Husht! peace to me for one minute, tormentor! Spare me something, I'm in
your power!"
"Will you ate anything?" said Mrs.
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